


Of Crows

by phenylketonurics



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, One-Shots, Suggestive Themes, Zevran Arainai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 15:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phenylketonurics/pseuds/phenylketonurics
Summary: A collection of one-shots containing my Warden, Nakota, and her beautiful boyfriend Zevran. Implied content but nothing explicit.





	1. Chapter 1

Awareness came back to Zevran slowly, which could only mean he had been knocked unconscious. His suspicions were proven when he groaned and tried to push himself up, only for the distinct feeling of a booted foot to press itself to his shoulder, keeping his back to the ground. He blinked up at the face above him, bringing into focus the thick black hair, brown skin, and decidedly pointed ears. “Nngh, er, what? Oh…  _ oh.  _ I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be,” he said, and had to suppress a grin when brows lowered over black eyes. 

 

The woman’s hand gripped the collar of his armor and pulled him up, and he raised his hands in mock defense. “You're going to be more annoying than I expected, aren't you?”

 

“And you're rather an aggressive little minx, aren't you?” Zevran countered, then he decided he might as well get out of this encounter alive. “Lovely, too.”

 

\---

 

Nakota’s first thought as soon as the assassin spoke to her was  _ I’m going to kill him anyway.  _ Then she remembered the answers she had yet to receive, and so she ground her teeth and glanced back at Alistair, who nodded at her. 

 

But the assassin could read the situation clearly. “If there is to be an interrogation, let me save you the trouble. My name is Zevran. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, an order of assassins. I was contracted to hunt and kill and surviving Grey Wardens in Ferelden - which I have failed at, sadly.”

 

Nakota pursed her lips. “I'm rather happy you failed,” she told him, rather unnecessarily. 

 

“I would be as well, in your shoes. For me, however, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn't it?” 

 

Nakota snorted and rolled her eyes, and glanced back at Leliana when she said, “Someone went to great expense to hire this man.”

 

Before she could respond, the assassin -  _ Zevran  _ \- was speaking. Again. “It's true. I suppose you don't hear much of the Crows here. Where I come from, we’re rather infamous.” 

 

“Not for being good assassins, apparently.” The words were deadpan, and left Nakota before she could filter herself. 

 

“Oh, I see. Is this what you Fereldans do? Mock your prisoners? Such  _ cruelty _ .” Nakota didn't want to admit she could almost enjoy the sound of the small, derisive laugh that he let out. 

 

“Only when they make it easy,” she retorted, and then cleared her throat, stopping herself before she could slip into banter with her would-be assassin. “Who hired you?”

 

“Hmm. A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I believe?” 

 

\---

 

Zevran had just gotten used to being held by the front of his armor when he was dropped. He nearly cracked his head on the ground, but stopped himself just in time to look up to see the female Warden had stood, and was positively fuming. “Ah, I see the name is familiar.”

 

“Are you loyal to him?” The question was sharp, the tone dark. Zevran very much wanted to backtrack to the light almost-teasing he had reached just moments before. 

 

“Look, I have no idea what his issues are with you. The usual, I imagine - you threaten his power, and he wants you dead, yes?”

 

The woman was sneering at him, and had crossed her arms, a mirror image to the tall blond next to her. “That's the understatement of the century.”

 

“Right, well,” Zevran said, sitting up slowly, not liking the way the black-haired mage woman was smirking at him, “beyond that, I have no loyalty to him. I was hired to perform a service.”

 

“And now that you've failed that service?” The question came from the blond, the aggressive Fereldan accent entirely what Zevran had expected. 

 

“Well, that is between Loghain and the Crows. And the Crows and myself,” he supplied. 

 

“And between you and me?” It was back to the woman. If he had to guess, Zevran would say she was the leader. 

 

“Isn't that what we’re establishing now?” he asked rhetorically, dropping the tone of his voice just so he could see how she would react. There it was - her lips twitched ever so slightly, and her weight shifted. He continued while he had at least a little advantage. “Loyalty is an interesting concept - one I’d like to discuss, provided you're done with the questions?”

 

\---

 

Nakota looked at Alistair, who shrugged a bit helplessly. With a sigh, she crouched in front of the assassin again. “I'm listening. For now.”

 

A wide grin spread across his face. “Here's how it is: I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit, at least to the Crows. Unfortunately for them, I rather prefer living. And you are obviously the sort of person to give the Crows pause - so let me serve you, instead.”

 

It was so abrupt, so surprising, that all Nakota could muster was, “You must think I'm royally stupid.”

 

Zevran raised an eyebrow at her. “I think you are royally hard to kill. And, well, utterly breathtaking. Not that I think you'll respond to simple flattery - but there are worse things in life than following the whims of a deadly sex goddess.” The smirk on his face was devilish. 

 

That was what grounded her. She’d never been called a  _ deadly sex goddess  _ before - in the alienage, that wasn’t something you said to people, let alone someone you just met. Her face felt warm and she could feel the scowl claiming her expression. “What's to stop you from finishing the job later?”

 

“The Crows aren't very forgiving. They might just kill me on principle for failing the first time. To be quite honest, I’d rather take my chances with you. Plus, I happen to know their wily ways. I come with you, I can protect myself from them, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help.”

 

Another surprise. Nakota tilted her head as she considered. She was deemed stronger than these Crows, yet this assassin preferred his chances with her company than theirs. “Why would I want you to come with us?”

 

“Why? Well, because I am skilled at many things, from fighting, to stealth and picking locks.” Nakota wasn't too sure about the first or the third, but he certainly was good at stealth. She remembered how he'd disappeared in front of her. “I could also stand around and look pretty, if you prefer. Warm your bed. Fend off unwanted suitors.” 

 

Suddenly, Alistair laid a hand on her shoulder. She turned to him, and the urgency on his face was nearly staggering, and enough to distract her from the literal proposition she’d just been presented with. “Are you seriously considering this?” Before she could answer, he said, “Nakota,  _ no _ . He tried to kill us!”

 

“And he failed, Alistair.”

 

“That doesn't - so?! He could still kill us! I rather don't like the idea of waking up with a blade in my back!”

 

“Give me your sword.” Alistair looked at Nakota like she'd grown a second head. 

 

“What?”

 

“Alistair, give me your sword.” And because he had no reason to mistrust her, he did. 

 

And, without turning to look at him, Nakota held the blade out, hilt-first, toward Zevran, who was still unbound on the ground. He didn't take it. 

 

After about ten seconds, Nakota handed the blade back to a dumbstruck Alistair, then shot a cheerful smile to an equally befuddled Zevran. 

 

“You can come.”


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t completely terrible, really, traveling with the Grey Wardens. They didn’t trust Zevran, but Zevran didn’t trust Zevran, so he figured they were on fairly even footing. Plus, they were both unnecessarily attractive - it had him wondering if that was a requirement, or if the mysterious Joining he’d heard about had something to do with it.

 

Whichever it was, Zevran was grateful for it as he watched his leader prepare for bed, untying her leather cuirass and sliding her greaves off of her legs, sighing in relief and stretching her arms high above her head. He smirked as he watched the Warden Alistair glance over and promptly turn red as a tomato. His smirk grew into a genuine grin as he watched her sit heavily next to the fire and struggle with the tie in her hair. Something in him told him to go to her, and he wondered how he became so dramatic as his feet carried him to the center of their small camp.

 

“Let me do that for you,” he said, making sure that she saw him approach and keeping his posture as relaxed as possible. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was trying so hard - it wasn’t as if he needed her to trust him, though he figured it wouldn’t hurt.

 

Nakota had gone still, hands still in her hair, eyeing Zevran with a slight curl to her lip. He could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She must have decided that she wasn’t in any danger, because she huffed and said, “Go for it, then,” and flipped her hair entirely over her shoulder so that it fell down her back as she turned away from him.

 

“I do know some things about this,” Zevran said, tacking his grin in place as he tangled his fingers into her ponytail. It had gotten tangled around the leather tie she used, and he got to work loosening it as gently as possible.

 

“What, doing a woman’s hair?” Nakota said, resting her palms on the ground beside her.

 

Zevran let himself shift closer to her, close enough to catch the sharp tang of elfroot under the scent of old leather and travel. “And undoing it,” he said as he released the tie, dropping his tone automatically. He almost froze, just for a second, unsure of her reaction.

 

But Nakota just laughed as she turned to him, low and short, and the sound of it shot straight through Zevran’s stomach and made his legs weak. He bit the inside of his cheek as she looked up at him, tucking her newly freed hair behind her ear. Her dark eyes dug into him like a knife. He couldn’t move.

 

And then she was moving away with all the hauteur of the Empress of Orlais, shooting him a quick “thank you,” but the way she said it sounded less like gratitude and more like it had been expected of him. He supposed it was. He wasn’t put off by it.

 

\--

 

Nakota’s hair slid through his fingers like fresh silk as Zevran braided it. Camp was quiet tonight, and all he heard was the crackling of the fire several feet off and the dog digging around the edge of the trees. 

 

Nakota was on her stomach, laid out on Zevran’s bedroll with her head resting on her crossed arms. Her eyes were closed, most likely drifting off, and her breathing was soft. Zevran was straddling the middle of her back, most of his weight resting forward on his knees. Alistair had already finished glaring and grumbling about it, though Leliana was still shooting them mischievous looks from her bedroll.

 

It had started as a massage; Zevran had offered, and Nakota had accepted - on the grounds that they stayed right where they were, effectively shutting down any prospect of more exciting activities. Unless she was more bold than she seemed - though Zevran suspected not, what with the way she was currently dozing under his fingers.

 

He had moved from her shoulders to her hair some time ago, and she didn’t protest, so Zevran had just started braiding. He loved Nakota’s hair, he would admit that - it was dark and smooth and fell across her shoulders in the most enticing way possible, and it was so entirely  _ Nakota. _ Zevran still wondered that she let him touch it at all. 

 

“Finished already?” Nakota’s voice drifted up to him, muffled by her arms, and Zevran realized that his fingers had stilled as he watched her.

 

“Nearly,” he replied, and cleared his throat. He finished the braid, leaving her with two that fell to her lower back. He shifted back and off of her, fighting back a smile as she sat up, rubbing her eyes sleepily. 

 

“Thank you, Zevran,” Nakota said, blinking wide brown eyes at him, and it was different this time. Gone was her usual sideways glance and disinterested tone; she was looking at him with the ghost of a smile on her lips, and as she spoke she leaned forward to rest a hand on his knee. Zevran was, for the first time in a long time, taken completely off guard.

 

And then, as if living for his struggle, she leaned even closer and pressed her lips to his cheek in the briefest, most chaste kiss he’d ever experienced. It disarmed him more than being stripped bare ever would. He was left with nothing but cold hands as he watched Nakota tuck herself into her bedroll and he hoped with his entire self that she would dream of him as much as he was bound to dream of her.


	3. Chapter 3

_ “I fancy things that are beautiful, and things that are strong.” _

 

_ Her pulse was pounding in her ears. Her fingertips were numb.  _

 

_ “Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?” _

 

Nakota’s first thought had been  _ yes, I would  _ \- a knee-jerk reaction to the literal assassin in front of her. But she'd stayed silent. The conversation had drifted off then, finally ending with a whispered “Goodnight, Zevran.” She didn't sleep that night. 

 

It had been a week since then. They’d spent most of the time traveling, trying to get from the Brecilian Forest to Lake Calenhad. The encounter with the Dalish clan had been trying, to say the least. Now that they were nearly eight days out of the forest, her tension hadn't decreased at all. She could feel the tension in her shoulders even when she slept. 

 

They set up their camp early, several hundred feet off of the road in a wide clearing. Everyone dispersed in silence after eating whatever rations they had in their own belongings; Nakota sat in front of the fire in the center of camp, chin on her hand. 

 

Watching the goings-on of her companions only distracted her from her turbulent thoughts for a short time. It wasn't long until she started trying everything to forget - nothing she did seemed to drive her family from her mind, no memory was strong enough to smother the one of her father’s face as he tucked her hair behind her ears and urged her to follow Duncan out of the alienage.

 

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand lightly touched her arm, and didn't stop her fist from flying; Zevran, fortunately, caught her wrist, laughing. “Your thoughts are a storm, are they not? They must be, for you to want to mar this face.”

 

Nakota rolled her eyes, snorting derisively. “Your arrogance is undeterred,” she noted dryly. 

 

“Why shouldn’t it be? I've gotten this far with it.”

 

With Zevran looking at her like that, eyes soft and amused, a tiny smirk on his face, skin glowing golden in the firelight - Nakota was forced back to days before, to Zevran telling her he  _ fancied  _ her; he was giving her the same look then, too. 

 

“Zevran, I…” she took a breath, hating the way her voice sounded soft in her own ears. “I've been thinking about what you said.”

 

“As I had hoped you would,” he replied, tilting his head in a way that only strengthened Nakota’s resolve. 

 

It was startling, the way she never tired of looking at him. 

 

“I think I wouldn't be offended,” she said simply, and his smirk widened into a grin, and then he cleared his throat softly. 

 

“Then what are we to do about it?” he asked, but it didn't sound like a question, more a proposition - a request. It was somehow… disorienting. 

 

In answer, Nakota just tilted her head and leaned forward. 

 

Their lips met quickly, but it was not insistent, the way that Nakota expected Zevran to be. He tilted his face down in a silent request, pressing soft, feather-light kisses to her mouth. His presence flooded her; her nose was filled with the smell of leather and metal and something entirely him, something thick and deep; the skin of his neck was soft under her fingers and the muscles of his back tensed when she slid her hands around him. Her lips parted as teeth brushed across her bottom lip, and as soon as they did, the wet heat of his mouth moved - across her cheek and down to her jaw. Nakota’s breath left her when Zevran sucked a bruise into her throat, just under her ear. 

 

Impatient and a little frustrated, Nakota pulled his face back up to hers, claiming his mouth again, revelling in the low, deep laugh that echoed in his chest. She had a sudden feeling that he could never kiss her again and she would never forget the way that she was utterly and completely surrounded by him. He grinned against her mouth, and she grinned back, breaking away to rest her forehead against his. 

 

Zevran opened his mouth to speak, but Nakota pressed her hand to his lips and shook her head. “Let’s explore a little more later.”

 

She couldn't hold in a laugh at the soft sigh she heard behind her as she went to her own pillow. 


	4. Chapter 4

Redcliffe left a sour taste in all their mouths, Zevran thought. Nakota was especially stressed, he knew, and he didn't blame her - she wasn't made for fighting hordes of undead. It was no question that she could, of course, but it wasn't in her nature. It didn't fit her. 

 

Redcliffe castle, now free of undead,  _ did  _ suit her immensely, Zevran thought as he watched her laugh at something Alistair was saying. She was brushing out her hair, still wet from the bath. Zevran wasn't oblivious to Alistair’s wandering eyes, and it left a heavy feeling in his stomach when Nakota laughed so hard she leaned into his shoulder - a feeling he pushed away, but he continued to watch her. 

 

And then her eyes drifted over to his, still sparkling with laughter, and there must have been something in his expression because she tilted her head and arched an eyebrow at him. He sent a wide smile her way, dropping his head so he could send her a  _ look  _ through his lashes. She grinned - it was a sort of game they played now: the lingering looks, idle wandering hands as they sat beside the fire. Except, Zevran wasn't so sure it was going to last; there  _ was  _ a tension, he wasn't imagining it, he was sure of that.

 

He was also sure that Nakota’s eyes followed him as he stood, announcing his retreat to bed, and that he deliberately slowed his pace as he walked down the hall. 

 

\--

 

It was the time of night when the darkness was enveloping and the Veil seemed to thin around the absence of consciousness that there came a soft, frantic knocking on Zevran’s door. Suppressing a yawn, he rolled out of bed, shivering as his bare feet came into contact with the cold floor. He opened the door slowly, tense until he saw who stood on the other side. 

 

Nakota was peering up at him with her arms around her torso, chewing her lip almost sheepishly until Zevran opened the door all the way. He watched her, surprise etched into his features unbidden, as she smiled a wide toothy smile and brushed past him into the room. She smelled like the lavender soap she had found for her bath, underlined with the sharp tang of elfroot that he knew she sometimes chewed. He arched a brow at her as she pulled herself up onto his bed, letting out a little grunt of effort that made Zevran have to smother a smile. She just patted the blankets next to her and said, “Join me.”

 

So he joined her, leaning back against the headboard and fixing her with a curious look. There were a few moments of silence in which Nakota settled into the blankets, sitting cross-legged and smoothing the sheets in front of her, avoiding his eyes. Zevran contented himself to watching her, still fighting a grin at her being so close to him, especially as she was.

 

She had raided the empty rooms of Redcliffe castle for fresh clothes, and had donned a simple white shirt that was far too large and hung off of one shoulder in maybe the most tantalizing way possible. Her legs were bare save for loose cotton shorts that fell to her mid-thighs. Zevran didn’t think she knew quite what she was doing to him. But then she looked up at him, and he suspected that she knew  _ exactly  _ what was going on.

 

“I’m sorry if this is overbearing,” Nakota said, not sounding sorry at all.

 

Zevran tilted his head softly, shrugging one shoulder. “My door is always open to you, my dear Warden,” he said, and he was a little surprised at how true it was.

 

She was smiling at him now, but there was something cryptic in it, like she knew something that he didn’t, but then again, she usually looked like that. “I suspected you might say that,” she said, and then shifted closer, leaning in, and her hair was falling out of the loose bun she had it up in, and Zevran hoped she was thinking along the same lines he was.

 

Another few beats of silence that Zevran was too reluctant to break, and then Nakota let out a little huff and said, with an air of surety, “We’re both adults, Zevran, and I’ve seen the way you look at me. And I think,” - a short inhale - “I think you know how I feel. I think we both know what we want. Am I wrong?”

 

Zevran blinked, a little taken aback - which was confusing, because it hadn’t happened in a while. And then, all at once, he became aware of everything: her knee, now pressing lightly into the inside of his thigh; the scent of her still-a-little-damp hair swirling around him, intoxicating; the notion of  _ this is it, this is the catalyst, we can finally - _

 

Nakota leaned fully into his space, planting one hand on his thigh, and almost all thought left Zevran’s head for a few seconds. “Am I wrong?” Nakota asked again, a little more persistent and yet immensely soft, and she was so close, and Zevran knew what he wanted. 

 

“You’re correct,” Zevran said, ignoring the warmth spreading through his chest at her answering smile, and leaned forward off of the headboard and sliding his hands under her jaw, and finally, finally, he kissed her.

 

It was short. It was perfectly chaste, by any standards. After a few moments, Zevran pulled back a little to look at Nakota, and her eyes opened far too quickly - Zevran was nervous, for just a moment. She huffed, again, and pushed closer, sliding easily into his lap; Zevran briefly wondered how long she had been thinking about doing that. But then she was kissing him, hands on his jaw, his neck, and he was parting his lips for her, letting her explore, the feel of her tongue sliding over his mouth searing itself into his memory. 

 

\--

 

Nakota was impatient by nature. She knew this about herself, but honestly, she didn’t make much effort to change it - impatience, especially coming from a Warden, often yielded quick results. It was no different now, with Zevran. His mouth was pliant under hers, and his hair soft, and the breaths that ghosted over her lips left her dizzy. His hands slid around her waist, pressing hot into the curve of her back, and she could do nothing but hope that he didn’t want to stop as much as she didn’t. 

 

Zevran pushed forward, then, turning her so that she ended up on her back, and he was looking down at her and it was strange - the change in perspective was unexpected, to say the least. The loss of control was an adjustment, too, but then Zevran was pressing open kisses to the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her neck, lower. One of his hands slid under her shirt, the other tugging at the laces of it as his mouth sucked a bruise into her collarbone and it was at once far too much and not enough. 

 

A pause - Zevran looked up at Nakota, inquiry in his expression as his hands stilled at the hem of her shirt. She grinned at him in response, hooking a leg around his thigh, pulling his mouth to hers once more. He pushed her shirt away, and his mouth followed the same path it had before, and this time the heat of his palms on her bare torso was nearly overwhelming. His mouth traveled down, pausing at her sternum, again at her belly, and the look he sent her from between her legs set her off like a bomb. 

 

His fingers slid under her shorts, and her fingers twisted into his hair. One of his hands pressed into the inside of her thigh and the other slid along her leg before lifting it to mount it over his shoulder. There were a few seconds in which there was nothing but the pounding of blood in her ears and the anticipation. And then Zevran put his sinful mouth to use, and his hands slid to her waist as her back arched, and for a while, nothing else mattered.


End file.
